


First Impressions

by cowboykylux



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, First Meetings, Heist, Love at First Sight, Magical Tattoos, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: He shoulda known it’d be here of all places, now of all times. Shoulda known that even something as monumental as this woulda happened at the most inconvenient of moments. Deep in the bowels of the Charlotte Motor Speedway, Clyde’s arm tingles; a tattoo that he’d been obsessed with ever since it branded his arm flaming to life once again.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	First Impressions

He shoulda known it’d be here of all places, now of all times. Shoulda known that even something as monumental as this woulda happened at the most inconvenient of moments. Deep in the bowels of the Charlotte Motor Speedway, Clyde’s arm tingles; a tattoo that he’d been obsessed with ever since it branded his arm flaming to life once again.

He breaks out into a sweat – why were these damn coveralls so hot? – and he regrets it, because he don’t want to meet you for the first time with pit stains or nothin’, he don’t want to give a bad first impression. First impressions were important to Clyde, and now more than ever, now that he was about to meet his soulmate.

He’d never really given all that much thought to it, the whole thing of soulmates. For so long he’d gone without a tattoo, without a little symbol to call his own, a little symbol that he would only share with one other person in this great big world o’his. He was sure he would never find you, was sure you’d never find him, not all the way out there in West Virginia.

And dammit well, this ain’t even West Virginia. How’d he get stuck with luck like that, meetin’ his soulmate somewhere he ain’t even gonna get to spend time with her. Irrationally, he thinks as the machine sucks off his arm, as he scrambles scrambles scrambles to break the machine to get it out, he’d drive to North Carolina to see you regardless, suspended license be damned.

“They’ll be bangin’ on my cell door by breakfast.” Clyde huffs and puffs, tears stingin’ at his eyes. That aint the real reason he’s upset, not really. He doesn’t want to meet you without his prosthetic, doesn’t want you to see him like that.

What if you didn’t want him, what if you rejected him on account of his missin’ hand? What if you didn’t care ‘bout no soulmate tattoo, didn’t care about Clyde? And that was the other thing, wasn’t it, the jail cell. Prison. Why would you even want to love someone like Clyde, an ex-con and current-con and probably would-be-damn-future-con if his brother had any more crazy Cauliflower schemes.

But Jimmy’s reassurin’ him, and he don’t got no choice in the matter, and so he abandons the machine with the hope that Jimmy knows what the hell he’s talkin’ about, and Clyde leaves with Joe Bang back out into the above-ground, back out into the world.

It takes all of four steps for him to smack into someone, send them tumblin’ to the ground in a big crash of cherry icees.

“Oh shit!” Your pretty voice gasps as cold slush soaks into your jeans where you’re on the floor, and Clyde’s brain trips up because he can’t believe he’s just done that, can’t believe he was so lost in thought to not even notice you walking there.

“I’m so sorry,” He feels awful, even as Joe Bang keeps walkin’ away down down down the great big stretch to the parkin’ lot, Clyde stays behind and helps you up, offers you the only hand he’s got with an, “Darlin’ can I – lemme buy you some more – I’m – ”

But when you take his hand, you both nearly wince with pain. Clyde’s arm is tingling and stingin’ the same way he remembers in Iraq, when the mine and the explosion and the fire took his left from him. You cradle your arm, and his eyes widen, and your eyes widen too, because could it be?

“Do you…?” You say so soft, it ain’t like there’s a thousand people all around ya, rushin’ and hustlin’ to get back to their seats. It ain’t like the cars zip by, rumblin’ the earth as the make their left turns.

It’s just you, with your stunning face and your hand on Clyde’s arm, and Clyde, starin’ dumbly at ya because his brain can’t even think of any words that wouldn’t scare ya away.

“You feel it too?” He manages, chokes out because damnit all you’re everything he’s ever dreamed of and more and what a cosmic joke that this is happenin’ right now.

“I’m (Y/N).” You nod, and you immediately begin to roll up your sleeve, you expose the little tattoo with a great big grin as it shimmers, as it glows softly underneath your skin.

“I’m – ” Clyde starts, goes to reach for the long sleeves on his coveralls, before Joe makes a reappearance, lookin’ none too happy.

“Clyde!” He snaps, and oh Jimmy’ll be pissed off if he hears that, on accounta them not supposin’ to use their real names. But Joe don’t care none, he claps his hands together in frustration and hisses out, “Come on, we gots to go!”

“Clyde, that’s a handsome name.” You look up at him, really _look_ at him. He wonders what you’re thinkin’, wonders if you’ve noticed his arm, wonders wonders wonders.

“Thank ya, I’m – you’re – (Y/N)’s a real pretty name too.” He stammers, not sure what he ever did, what he ever deserved to have someone so beautiful as you for a soulmate.

“Shit oh this is – what bad timing I’ve gotta – ” Your face crumples, and you’re still covered in icee, you had been carrying more than one, which meant you probably had friends waitin’ for ya. Clyde tried to fight a flare of jealousy that maybe you had someone more than friendly waitin’ for ya too.

“Me too, me too but I don’t want to, now that I’ve found ya I don’t want to go.” Clyde shakes his head, and Joe gets angrier and angrier, his quick temper flarin’ up.

“Clyde!” Joe tries again.

Clyde tries to come up with some kinda excuse, something to say to ya, but you’re already pulling out a sharpie marker from your purse and reaching for his sleeve, his left sleeve – and he panics, tries to warn ya that there ain’t nothin’ there, but shockingly you don’t say nothin’ about it. You simply write your name and your phone number as clearly as possible with your hand that shakes from excitement, at the thrill of finally finding him.

“Call me?” You beg, as Joe comes over and finally drags Clyde away, steers him in the direction that Mellie is waitin’ in that fancy blue mustang. “Please, please Clyde call me. Whenever you’d like, please!”

“I will darlin’, I will.” Clyde calls back to you, never once takin’ his eyes off of ya, “I’ll call you.”

* * *

Months go by. The heist was a success, thankfully. Clyde got out of prison and was welcomed home, was greeted with a balloon and some beers, a silent celebration of his return.

Mellie leaves him in the livin’ room to tend to himself, a few quiet moments of reflection on his own freedom.

He’s sure you’ve forgotten about him, he’s sure of it.

Ninety days go by and a gal is sure to forget a man she met once, he reckons.

On the table next to the beers and his new arm is a little slip of paper, your name and number, and he figures, well what the hell.

What the hell.

With a sweatin’ palm he picks up the landline and dials your number, and his heart swells with an unfamiliar emotion – was it hope? Was this what hope felt like? – when you pick up on the first ring and breathlessly ask with a smile in your voice, like you’d been expectin’ him, like you ain’t haven’t forgotten him, like you still wanted him when you ask,

_“Clyde?”_


End file.
